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Imagine a HipHop culture in which each active participant, successful in their own right, undenianly talented in the arts and/ or business of the culture taking a protégée; imagine the master and apprentice leading study and practice groupsamong the youngest in art-and-culture cwntered schhols founded by practicioners of the culture instead of just the university-approved pop culture professor and rap star guest lecturer.
Imagine organizations like the Universal Zulu Nation, Rock Steady Crew, Temple of HipHop at the forefront of this effort.

At this stage of my career as a performance poet, there are certain expectations within this community of artists and writers: a book. Not just any book, but hopefully a publisher will hook up editing, press, ISBN, the whole 9. Luckily for me, my first book was a part effort by Fractal Edge Press, a brainchild of Chicago writers affiliated with Puddinhead Press. In 2004/5 Fractal Edge gathered writing from many hosts and regulars of Chicago’s open-mic poetry scene. Conscience Under Pressurewas one of the 1st 10 collections released, followed by The PolyRhythmic Anthology[a.k.a. The Hosts @ Trace]. Both with ISBN codes, square-bound spines and the best distribution that consignment can buy or D.I.Y.

Conscience represented my first few years immersed in a scene that to that point had boosted or provided career foundation for writers that sprung from HipHop culture such as Saul Williams, Sage Francis, B Dolan, Dessa, Kevin Coval and many others. The poetry slam community has seen more than it’s share of both failed rappers, and MC’s true to their culture even with their non-linear, often abstract “spoken word” as opposed to straight beats and rhymes. It was the written side that had flourished since I decided that the “Let’s start a band!” wouldn’t get past “Let’s start.” My book (as well as my work PolyRhythmic book) contained relatively diverse styles, mostly free-form and representative of my early frontman B-Boy meets Rocker MO. As I have improved over the last decade as a writer I have had many submissions to journals and anthologies accepted and published, recorded a couple CD’s. I always intend to stand shoulder to shoulder with my published peers by repeating the difficult trick of hooking on with a publisher/distributor that will put your career in a more literary, more academic spotlight. BUT…first, a mission…

I am Hip Hop. I am a B-Boy. There are certain aesthetic principles that I lean towards in order to legitimize my career to myself. My newest collection, Way of the B-Boy is hand-made, mostly self-edited, complete personal expression of my culture with no other filter. From recreating images of late night club or block jams to spelling out the Zen of rooftop “one-man-show” to simply how the language is used, Way of the B-Boy is not an example of what is expected of a writer-performer in the slam community. It is what is expected of any MC or DJ, breaker or graff writer: Self-creation, action and an example of not just doing something but being.

The book is hand-made, black cover similar to journal or piece book, no page numbers or table of contents, just 4 sections preceded by the HipHop curriculum sketch previously seen in this blog. Each section its own theme and distinctive energy and related pieces. Altogether, it is a testament to the urban inspirations that have gotten me and much of the world around me to this point. It is a testament to the being of HipHop, an expression of spirit not unlike Saul’s The Dead Emcee Scrolls or KRS-ONE’s The Gospel of HipHop.

I look forward to presenting much of the work at feature readings. Some of the work has already seen light at festivals, open mics and major slam competitions, if you are interested in a copy, they will be available in the coming weeks on the retooled BillyTuggle.net as well as straight out of the backpack.

In the early 21st century HipHop has begin to over shadow the typical evolution of youth cultures. A major reason for it’s longevity is that it has grown beyond being a simple ‘sub-culture’ or ‘arts culture’ with timeless art, archives and curriculum built upon the lessons that it presents at it’s most positive moments. However, the fame of hip-hop art and commerce is sometimes magnified through negativity. It would be misleading to think that persons of any culture would always have parallel or similar points of view, we are after all human. A culture such as HipHop is very opinion-conscious from who has the flyest style to who the greatest of all-time is. The GOAT argument, in pop culture, is reserved for rappers, but we all know who our favorite DJ’s are and who the graff writers and dancer are that inspire us. It is in the Hiphopper’s nature to debate, to battle, to “show and prove.”

The traditional arenas in which Hiphoppers bring the noise, the skills, the style are the party spot. Your crew is the crew that is the ONE to tear down the house, no matter what the media is. The DJ and his sound system, the MCs,\; the B-Boys & B-Girls ruling the floor; Did your crew do the backdrop or an installation? Flyers? Maybe it’s your clique tht simply threw the party and helped get the tape out of the headlining group. There is always another artist or crew out to push more and the most primal battles come at the center of the circle.

Before rappers gain the type of legendary status of commercial radio playing their major label releases… Before racking up the statistics and victories of big money contests… Before being crowned the king of your city or sector… A DJ or, much more often, an MC will battle their way out of their neighborhood or district. The tradition is rhyme for rhyme, schoolyard to block to park to party, but also getting recordings out and around because you also need money for resources. There-in is developed an instinct to be and fight for number one.

Rhyme battles have been fought epicly from day- or weekend long festivals, pay-per-view, live radio broadcast, on records and simply traditionally in a club open mic or cipher.

Detractors point to conflicts that have seemingly gone beyond musical and lyrical antics but no major incidents have ever been proven to be a result of “rap beef”. In some cases, conflict resolution and even alliances have resulted from conflict among rappers. In many cases, the music inspired by the feuds have become known as classic songs in the cultural cannon. Research some of the following [beyond my wiki gateway]…

[The following letter- semi-anonymous e-mail from Mr. “John Smith” – was received by Wax Poetics magazine and other music industry related companies this week and was posted on their blog on Wednesday morning 4/25/12. STS is only presenting the information. STS is not saying whether it’s true or not, but we will say that it is believable. Do your history. Do the knowledge on the American prison industrial complex, the corporate backings of the entertainment industry and US government itself.]

Hello,

After more than 20 years, I’ve finally decided to tell the world what I witnessed in 1991, which I believe was one of the biggest turning point in popular music, and ultimately American society. I have struggled for a long time weighing the pros and cons of making this story public as I was reluctant to implicate the individuals who were present that day. So I’ve simply decided to leave out names and all the details that may risk my personal well being and that of those who were, like me, dragged into something they weren’t ready for.

Between the late 80′s and early 90’s, I was what you may call a “decision maker” with one of the more established company in the music industry. I came from Europe in the early 80’s and quickly established myself in the business. The industry was different back then. Since technology and media weren’t accessible to people like they are today, the industry had more control over the public and had the means to influence them anyway it wanted. This may explain why in early 1991, I was invited to attend a closed door meeting with a small group of music business insiders to discuss rap music’s new direction. Little did I know that we would be asked to participate in one of the most unethical and destructive business practice I’ve ever seen.

The meeting was held at a private residence on the outskirts of Los Angeles. I remember about 25 to 30 people being there, most of them familiar faces. Speaking to those I knew, we joked about the theme of the meeting as many of us did not care for rap music and failed to see the purpose of being invited to a private gathering to discuss its future. Among the attendees was a small group of unfamiliar faces who stayed to themselves and made no attempt to socialize beyond their circle. Based on their behavior and formal appearances, they didn’t seem to be in our industry. Our casual chatter was interrupted when we were asked to sign a confidentiality agreement preventing us from publicly discussing the information presented during the meeting. Needless to say, this intrigued and in some cases disturbed many of us. The agreement was only a page long but very clear on the matter and consequences which stated that violating the terms would result in job termination. We asked several people what this meeting was about and the reason for such secrecy but couldn’t find anyone who had answers for us. A few people refused to sign and walked out. No one stopped them. I was tempted to follow but curiosity got the best of me. A man who was part of the “unfamiliar” group collected the agreements from us.

Quickly after the meeting began, one of my industry colleagues (who shall remain nameless like everyone else) thanked us for attending. He then gave the floor to a man who only introduced himself by first name and gave no further details about his personal background. I think he was the owner of the residence but it was never confirmed. He briefly praised all of us for the success we had achieved in our industry and congratulated us for being selected as part of this small group of “decision makers”. At this point I begin to feel slightly uncomfortable at the strangeness of this gathering. The subject quickly changed as the speaker went on to tell us that the respective companies we represented had invested in a very profitable industry which could become even more rewarding with our active involvement. He explained that the companies we work for had invested millions into the building of privately owned prisons and that our positions of influence in the music industry would actually impact the profitability of these investments. I remember many of us in the group immediately looking at each other in confusion. At the time, I didn’t know what a private prison was but I wasn’t the only one. Sure enough, someone asked what these prisons were and what any of this had to do with us. We were told that these prisons were built by privately owned companies who received funding from the government based on the number of inmates. The more inmates, the more money the government would pay these prisons. It was also made clear to us that since these prisons are privately owned, as they become publicly traded, we’d be able to buy shares. Most of us were taken back by this. Again, a couple of people asked what this had to do with us. At this point, my industry colleague who had first opened the meeting took the floor again and answered our questions. He told us that since our employers had become silent investors in this prison business, it was now in their interest to make sure that these prisons remained filled. Our job would be to help make this happen by marketing music which promotes criminal behavior, rap being the music of choice. He assured us that this would be a great situation for us because rap music was becoming an increasingly profitable market for our companies, and as employee, we’d also be able to buy personal stocks in these prisons. Immediately, silence came over the room. You could have heard a pin drop. I remember looking around to make sure I wasn’t dreaming and saw half of the people with dropped jaws. My daze was interrupted when someone shouted, “Is this a f****** joke?” At this point things became chaotic. Two of the men who were part of the “unfamiliar” group grabbed the man who shouted out and attempted to remove him from the house. A few of us, myself included, tried to intervene. One of them pulled out a gun and we all backed off. They separated us from the crowd and all four of us were escorted outside. My industry colleague who had opened the meeting earlier hurried out to meet us and reminded us that we had signed agreement and would suffer the consequences of speaking about this publicly or even with those who attended the meeting. I asked him why he was involved with something this corrupt and he replied that it was bigger than the music business and nothing we’d want to challenge without risking consequences. We all protested and as he walked back into the house I remember word for word the last thing he said, “It’s out of my hands now. Remember you signed an agreement.” He then closed the door behind him. The men rushed us to our cars and actually watched until we drove off.

A million things were going through my mind as I drove away and I eventually decided to pull over and park on a side street in order to collect my thoughts. I replayed everything in my mind repeatedly and it all seemed very surreal to me. I was angry with myself for not having taken a more active role in questioning what had been presented to us. I’d like to believe the shock of it all is what suspended my better nature. After what seemed like an eternity, I was able to calm myself enough to make it home. I didn’t talk or call anyone that night. The next day back at the office, I was visibly out of it but blamed it on being under the weather. No one else in my department had been invited to the meeting and I felt a sense of guilt for not being able to share what I had witnessed. I thought about contacting the 3 others who wear kicked out of the house but I didn’t remember their names and thought that tracking them down would probably bring unwanted attention. I considered speaking out publicly at the risk of losing my job but I realized I’d probably be jeopardizing more than my job and I wasn’t willing to risk anything happening to my family. I thought about those men with guns and wondered who they were? I had been told that this was bigger than the music business and all I could do was let my imagination run free. There were no answers and no one to talk to. I tried to do a little bit of research on private prisons but didn’t uncover anything about the music business’ involvement. However, the information I did find confirmed how dangerous this prison business really was. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. Eventually, it was as if the meeting had never taken place. It all seemed surreal. I became more reclusive and stopped going to any industry events unless professionally obligated to do so. On two occasions, I found myself attending the same function as my former colleague. Both times, our eyes met but nothing more was exchanged.

As the months passed, rap music had definitely changed direction. I was never a fan of it but even I could tell the difference. Rap acts that talked about politics or harmless fun were quickly fading away as gangster rap started dominating the airwaves. Only a few months had passed since the meeting but I suspect that the ideas presented that day had been successfully implemented. It was as if the order has been given to all major label executives. The music was climbing the charts and most companies when more than happy to capitalize on it. Each one was churning out their very own gangster rap acts on an assembly line. Everyone bought into it, consumers included. Violence and drug use became a central theme in most rap music. I spoke to a few of my peers in the industry to get their opinions on the new trend but was told repeatedly that it was all about supply and demand. Sadly many of them even expressed that the music reinforced their prejudice of minorities.

I officially quit the music business in 1993 but my heart had already left months before. I broke ties with the majority of my peers and removed myself from this thing I had once loved. I took some time off, returned to Europe for a few years, settled out of state, and lived a “quiet” life away from the world of entertainment. As the years passed, I managed to keep my secret, fearful of sharing it with the wrong person but also a little ashamed of not having had the balls to blow the whistle. But as rap got worse, my guilt grew. Fortunately, in the late 90’s, having the internet as a resource which wasn’t at my disposal in the early days made it easier for me to investigate what is now labeled the prison industrial complex. Now that I have a greater understanding of how private prisons operate, things make much more sense than they ever have. I see how the criminalization of rap music played a big part in promoting racial stereotypes and misguided so many impressionable young minds into adopting these glorified criminal behaviors which often lead to incarceration. Twenty years of guilt is a heavy load to carry but the least I can do now is to share my story, hoping that fans of rap music realize how they’ve been used for the past 2 decades. Although I plan on remaining anonymous for obvious reasons, my goal now is to get this information out to as many people as possible. Please help me spread the word. Hopefully, others who attended the meeting back in 1991 will be inspired by this and tell their own stories. Most importantly, if only one life has been touched by my story, I pray it makes the weight of my guilt a little more tolerable.

Opportunities constantly present themselves to the practicing B-Boy, MC, and promoter, anyone who constantly keeps themselves in the movement of the community. Once your talent is unquestionable, once that mixtape, magazine, website or production company has a reputation for the freshest look and sound, you increase your own demand. This comes with the need to always be perceived as having something new and not recycling past work.

This is especially true with the breaker and his/her stunt-like moves which will always be bitten. Practice is an important mantra for the graff writer. As they get their tag into muscle memory, it has to be done with several media- marker, spray can, shoe polish, etc. as well as committing to a unique expression of styles.

MCs should really read as much if not more than they write or rap in order to expand vocabulary and syntax.